Page 4 of Sinful Lies

Without looking back, I stepped into the hallway and left.

Part One

The Past

Chapter

One

“All a woman actually wants is to feel special.”

?Matt Dunn

Jade

22 years old

Eight years ago

“Your nurse, Lana, told me you don’t take your medicine anymore. You flush them down the toilet or hide them in the food you don’t finish in the canteen. What’s going on, Jade?”

I leaned back against the bed frame, its cheap wood digging into my spine. Arms crossed, I stared at the blank white wall ahead, ignoring Doctor Morano’s gaze.

Tall, serious, and composed, she was everything you’d expect from someone with a psychology degree from Harvard. The tight bun of silvery-white hair, the spotless white blouse, and those glasses perched high on her nose screamed old money.

A nepo baby through and through.

Yet, she had this annoying tendency to actually care—heart of gold, they said.

Gag-worthy, really.

Her legs were crossed as she sat, one manicured hand resting on the arm of the chair, the other adjusting her glasses. She was waiting for me to crack, but she should’ve known better.

I was an expert at playing the game. Feigning ignorance, dodging questions, putting on my little “I’m totally fine” act.

“Jade,” she said finally. “If you won’t take your medicine, I’m afraid we’ll have to administer it intravenously.”

My head snapped to her, eyes narrowing. “You wouldn’t dare.”

A flicker of amusement crossed her face—brief, but there. “Oh, I would. If it means my favorite patient finally gets better, I absolutely would.”

I exhaled sharply, kicking the covers off as frustration bubbled under my skin. The hospital gown clung uncomfortably to my body as I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, the cold floor biting at my bare feet.

Wordlessly, I padded to the bathroom, pulled open the cabinet beneath the sink, and grabbed the cup where I’d stashed my tiny rebellions.

Returning to the room, I held the cup out in front of me like a peace offering before tossing the pills into my mouth and swallowing them dry.

Back on the bed, the mattress sagged under me as I sank into it, the sour taste of compliance lingering on my tongue.

“You say that to every patient, Doc. You’re a liar—I’m not your favorite.”

A small, knowing smile crept onto her lips. “Really? Because I’ve never given this to any other patient before.”

She reached into her pocket, her slender fingers digging deep, and retrieved a small velvet box. Without a word, she placed it on the bed beside me.

I frowned hesitantly before picking it up. Turning it over in my hands, I analyzed the box, its soft texture unfamiliar in the stark, clinical setting of the hospital.

Finally, I opened it.

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